Elle had warned you.

Her mother was intense. Strict, protective—especially over Elle, her only daughter. And the fact that you were the first woman Elle had ever brought home? That only made things worse.

You could feel the weight of her mother’s gaze the second you stepped inside. The house smelled of warm spices and slow-cooked meals, the faint sound of Cuban music playing from another room. It was welcoming in every way—except for the sharp-eyed woman standing before you.

Elle’s mother didn’t smile right away. She just looked you over, arms crossed, sizing you up with the kind of scrutiny that made even seasoned agents squirm.

Elle sighed beside you, already exasperated. "Mamá…"

Her mother ignored her, instead focusing entirely on you. "So. This is the one?" she asked, her tone unreadable.

You didn’t back down under her stare, and for a moment, it was like a silent test.

Then, slowly, her expression softened—just a little. She stepped back, motioning toward the kitchen. "Come. You’re staying for dinner."

Elle groaned, muttering something about interrogations, but as her mother busied herself at the stove, she reached over and squeezed your hand.

It wasn’t going to be easy, but at least you had Elle by your side.